A Rainy Day
by owlcroft
Summary: What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.


Disclaimer: I neither make nor intend to make a profit from these characters.

Author's Note: A grateful thank-you to L.M. Lewis for corrections, encouragement and nun horror stories.

A RAINY DAY

by Lynn Walker

For once, the forecast had been correct. It had called for rain throughout the weekend, and rain it did. In buckets. In sheets. In torrents.

Mark McCormick liked rain. He liked the way it smelled on the wind, and the way it dimpled the surface of the ocean. Most of all, he liked the way it prevented him from doing any outdoor chores. Now, though, it was past noon and he was hungry and, truth to tell, a little bored. Braving the storm, he dashed from the gatehouse, across the driveway, around the garage attached to the main house and up the steps to the kitchen.

"Hey, Hardcastle!" he shouted as he slammed the door. "Home is the sailor and hungry for lunch!"

A grouchy voice answered from the interior of the house. "Yeah, I thought you might show up around now." The Honorable Milton C. Hardcastle came through the other door into the kitchen. "Didja run out of food over there?"

"Not exactly", the younger man replied. "I just thought it would be a shame to let that left-over chicken go to waste." He added, magnanimously, "And you may have some, too."

"Well, thanks," said the judge flatly. "Seeing's as how it's my chicken, that's mighty nice of ya. Did it ever cross your mind that I might have plans for that chicken.?"

"Plans? Like asking it to the prom? Or, going into business with it? What kind of plans?" A curly head popped over the fridge door. "You want me to heat it up? And where's the rest of the coleslaw?"

"I finished it last night after you left. I'm still trying to get these files straightened out and I was up 'til two fooling with 'em. Just bring out the devilled eggs and we'll have it all cold."

"You know, Judge, I'd be happy to help with that stuff. There's just a few eggs here; I'll get some chips, too. If you'd just use that fancy computer downstairs, you wouldn't be having these problems."

"Yeah, well, I'd be having some of 'em. A lot of this stuff is updates and new info. Some of it's duplication of what I've already got, but you gotta look close to make sure. Maybe when I've got it all put together, I'll let you put it all on the computer."

"You'll _let_ me?" McCormick was transferring food to the table. "Hey, thanks, Hardcase." He pulled out a chair and added "Get some paper towels. Seriously, Judge, why not let me help you sort all that out. You can tell me what to look for and it'll get done twice as fast."

"Maybe. It would get done faster. But a lot of this is confidential, so don't go blabbing it to any of your old _pen_-pals." Hardcastle was forking chicken onto a plate.

"Oh, that's funny. That's really hilarious. Ho, ho." McCormick was opening a bag of Fritos. "You know, I just remembered a whole lot of stuff I have to get done this afternoon. Sorry, Judge, I guess I won't be able to help out after all."

"Yeah, yeah. Look, if you can just add the new stuff to the existing files, going by last name, that'll be a big help. Have a couple of these eggs before I finish 'em all."

McCormick swallowed some chicken and asked, "So what's all the new stuff anyway? Why isn't all this already in the files?"

"I told ya. Some of it's updates - people in the files who've died, or been sent to the State Spa for Felons. Some of it's memos to me from the cops or D.A. with information they figure I'd find useful at some point. A few are . . .um . . ._really_ confidential."

"You mean, like the ones from the F.B.I.?"

"How did you know about _those_?" asked the judge grimly.

"Come on, Judge. You leave files lying around in chairs, someone'll pick' em up just so they can sit down. Besides, Tonto loyal sidekick. No tell'um big chief's secrets. Not if you hand over that last piece of chicken, anyway."

ooooo

In the basement, an entire wall was lined with file cabinets. The two men were seated at a small folding table with manila folders scattered over it and a laundry basket full of papers that had been paper-clipped or stapled together in batches.

"Ya know, if you'd just try to keep up with this stuff, all this filing wouldn't be such a problem. I mean, look at this." McCormick held up a two-page memo. "It's dated almost two years ago."

"You may recall," the judge answered sententiously, "that at that time I had a certain someone come to live on the estate who took up most of my time and caused me a whole lot more work."

"More work! _I _caused _you _more work? Hah! Hey, this guy looks familiar."

"Lemme see. Jolley Lansdale. Might've seen him in the joint, I suppose. He's not due back out for another few years." Hardcastle tossed the file back.

"What a name. Jolley." McCormick stretched and yawned.

Hardcastle straightened in his chair and did a little stretching himself. "That's not so bad. Look at his middle name."

"Hoggett!" McCormick goggled. "Who in their right minds would name a kid Jolley Hoggett? That ought to be illegal."

"Tell ya what, sport. Get elected to the legislature and get a law passed. 'Til then, parents can name their kids pretty much anything they want. I once knew a girl named Rose Bush. And another named Penny Nichols." Hardcastle was back at work.

McCormick was still looking at the unfortunately-named Lansdale's file. "That's really unfair. Hey! What's your middle name?"

"None of your business."

"Now, _that's _a weird name. Come on, Judge. I keep meaning to ask, but never remembered at a good time. Pleeeease?"

"Not important and not gonna tell ya."

"Okay, have it your way. It's not a secret, ya know. There's plenty of ways I can find out. In fact, I know a place I can call right now . . ." Mark rose and headed for the stairs.

"All right, just sit down!" The judge was clearly unhappy. "It's not that big a deal anyway, but it's just like you to make some kind of Federal case about it. Why do you wanna know?"

"I'm just curious. Come on, my middle name's James." McCormick tried his best to look winsome.

"I know. It's in your file."

Neither man spoke for a short while.

"Crawford," Hardcastle said with a sigh.

"Crawford? That's it? That's not a horrible name. Why don't you like it?" Mark was puzzled. The judge looked truly depressed.

"Well, when I was little, first grade, the other kids would make fun of me and call me crawdad and run around with their fingers sticking up out of their heads pretending to have those feelers, like crawfish do. And they tried to make me eat bugs and breathe underwater and stuff." Hardcastle started shuffling files, making a bigger mess than he'd started with. "I nearly drowned a couple of times. That wasn't _so_ bad, but the teacher found out one recess and told all the parents and everybody got into trouble but me and that made it all worse. All of 'em hated me for the rest of the school year. And I swore nobody'd ever know my middle name again." Another sigh. "You don't have to say it. It's dumb, I know. Words, and names, aren't what's important. It's what a man is, and does, that matters."

McCormick sat quietly, thinking. "Well," he said slowly. "Names can really hurt when you're a kid. I know. They can even hurt when you're all grown-up."

"Yeah, but I should be over it by now. I guess it's just habit." Judge Hardcastle sat looking at McCormick for a moment. "What names did you get called?"

Mark looked back at his friend and said grimly "Can't you guess? Think about it, Judge. Knowing about my Mom and Sonny . . ."

"Oh." Hardcastle was a little taken aback. "Well, but, you went to Catholic school. Didn't the nuns put a stop to it?"

"The nuns? Are you serious? They're the ones who started it all. They kept telling me what a terrible sin my parents had committed and made it all seem like it was _my _fault, just for existing. After all, if I'd never been born, they wouldn't have a bastard in their school, would they?" McCormick's bitterness surprised the judge.

"Yeah, but," Hardcastle fumbled for something to say and came up with, "A lot of great people have been illegitimate."

Mark snorted. "Name one."

"Um . . ." Hardcastle was actually starting to sweat. This was important and he was afraid of really blowing it. _Come on, you bozo, think of somebody. A real role model, somebody he'd look up to. _"Well . . .Jesus!" he blurted, surprising himself.

"What?"

"Jesus was illegitimate."

Mark stared at him like he'd grown a third eye, then slowly started to laugh. "Jesus was a . . . was illegitimate?"

"Yeah." The judge was feeling a bit better about this now. "Yeah, his folks were engaged but not married when he was born. His _earthly_ folks, I mean. So . . ." He waved a hand.

The kid was still laughing, weakly, and shaking his head. "Oh, man." He started to laugh harder. "Oh, man! Judge, why didn't I think of that? If only I'd told the nuns that!"

"Probably a good thing for you, you didn't." Hardcastle was grinning now. As the younger man's laughter started to fade a bit, he went on, "See, the names aren't what make you the kind of man you are. It's what you got inside, the kind of life you live, the things you stand for and believe in. You know all that, I don't have to preach to ya. But don't be bothered by any paticular word anymore, okay? You got plenty of good stuff inside and that's all that matters." He swiped at his nose in embarassment and continued, "So get back to work. We've wasted enough time on this name hoo-ha."

Still giggling, McCormick picked up J.H. Lansdale's folder. "Thanks, Judge." He mopped at his eyes. "I still say Crawford's a pretty good name. You got nothing to hide." Putting Lansdale's folder to the right of the table, he said "So what's Jerry's middle name?"

"Ethelbert," said the judge with a straight face.


End file.
